Solomon's Compass

by Carol Kilgore

  The truck smashing had been ongoing for a good five minutes, but loud noises at a boatyard weren’t out of the ordinary. Jake would be surprised if anyone called 911.

  If Taylor had been at Rankin’s place—and with two cars in the driveway that would be anyone’s logical assumption—she would have heard the noise, seen what was happening, and called the police. The vandal had known she was gone. In Jake’s book, that indicated the shooter and the truck hammerer were connected.

  He watched the Hispanic man. “Come on, pick ’em up and put ’em down. We gotta move it outta here.” Jake’s words didn’t make those skinny feet and legs move any faster. The man strutted to his own drumbeat and stopped half a block later at a beat-to-hell blue pickup.

  Jake wrote down the plate number and made certain the man drove away. Another check on Taylor showed the cat was less than half a mile out. Plenty of time.

  Will was having some trouble with the sails, but they were making progress. Taylor glowed with confidence—a sailor enjoying a challenge. A smile formed on Jake’s face.

  Commander Snow White. And Jake was damn proud of her.

  Taylor and Will didn’t talk much until they cleared the marina no-wake zone. They had lain flat on the tramp for about two minutes. When no more shots came, they decided to head home before the shooter could turn around and come after them again. They agreed it was better to take their chances moving.

  She hadn’t piloted a catamaran in years, and then only Hobie 16s—without bullet holes in the hulls and mainsail. Like not forgetting how to ride a bike, she hadn’t forgotten the principles or the feel of the tiller.

  “You sure you’re okay?” From the front of the tarp, Will’s voice carried over the music and the wind noise.

  “Yeah.”

  “Stay about fifty feet outboard of the piers. If we have a problem, we’ll have room to correct.”

  Having room could be a life saver. Mark had known that. He had been careless. But it took Jake to point it out to her. Yesterday, Mark’s memories might have consumed her in this situation. Today, they didn’t. She might not have been his equal in the classroom, but she was better on the water. Where it counted. Recognition of her ability gave her strength.

  Will turned his attention to the boom. “Both the jib and mainsail are tight. No holes in the jib. In the mainsail, the hole nearest the bottom is ripping. I’m going to stay out here in case we have to take it down.”

  “Good.”

  He inspected all ten feet of the boom before turning back toward the front.

  “Will! You’re bleeding.”

  “What?”

  “Come here.”

  He moved aft toward her.

  “Turn around. The back of your arm is bleeding.”

  “I must have scraped it on something.”

  “Turn around. Let me see.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “Better. Either a bad scrape or a minor bullet graze. You didn’t feel it?”

  Will shook his head. “Adrenaline. I’ll tend to it when we’re ashore.” He turned back to his inspection duties.

  Ever so slowly she inched them down the coast toward the boatyard. She rubbed the knotted cords of her neck to ward off a tension headache.

  “Taylor!”

  Startled, she turned her head. “What?”

  “I asked if you thought someone mistook us for Nate Brady and guest. Do you?”

  Will’s face held about as much hope as she felt. “Not unless the two of you look alike.” Which she knew they didn’t.

  “No. But he plays fast, hard, and loose. Anyone might recognize his boat without knowing what he looks like.”

  “Maybe he’s messing with somebody’s wife, and the guy decided to get even.”

  “Brady’s messed with so many wives I’m surprised he recognizes his own.” Will’s head sagged. “I think someone told me his wife died a while back.”

  “Considering the phone calls, I don’t think the shots were for Brady.” She wished she thought otherwise.

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  She scanned the bay. Anything was possible, but she knew the shots came from someone intending to frighten her. To make her leave Rock Harbor. Not happening, you sorry bastard.

  “Will, did you tell anyone we would be sailing today? Or be near the harbor?”

  “Trinh. Zia. A.J.”

  And Jake. She’d scanned the bay when the shots occurred, but a dozen or more boats ran or anchored within range. On land, the same results. Hundreds of people, but no gun in sight. They decided a slow run back to the boatyard was their best option. Both hulls had been hit, the port one probably more than once beneath the waterline. They’d been lucky.

  The cat was beating against the wind, and she had to concentrate to keep the mainsail sheeted in tight. With the leeward pontoon taking on water, a small gust could flip them. Will said both hulls had positive flotation, so they wouldn’t sink. Even if they submerged, they were never too far out to swim to shore.

  They bounced over wavelets toward the boatyard. A tug pushing a string of barges moved toward them in the ICW. She yelled to Will, and he scooted back. “Tug in the Ditch. I think we’ll be inside your jetties before the wake. If not, in the water and swim away from the sails at the first sign of trouble. Don’t be a hero.”

  Will gave her two thumbs up and moved back forward.

  The more the distance closed between them and the lead barge, the sweatier her hands got. A thousand yards shrunk fast. Finally they sailed close enough for her to eyeball the jetty opening. It lay about a hundred yards ahead and three times that into shore. “Let’s head in here so we can make a gentle turn.”

  “No. We’re too far out. Wait until we’re almost close enough to reach out and touch it. Then swing out like you’re parking in a tight spot. Lots of rocks on the bottom.”

  Before she started the turn, she flexed her fingers and backed the jib to help push them through the wind. The change in direction went smoothly. Safe inside the jetties, she wiped her palms on her shorts. “Actually, this is the first time I’ve sailed a cat this large, but the technique is the same. I wish I could’ve raced her.”

  “I watched you earlier, and now working the tiller. You were meant to be out here.”

  “One day I’ll get my own boat.”

  They limped into the boatyard basin. Will dropped the main, and they bobbled close enough for him to pull them quayside. After he secured the lines, they both sank to the trampoline.

  Will lifted his sunglasses. “Water?”

  “Please. I’m parched.”

  He pulled two bottles from the cooler. She downed half her water in one long draw.

  “I have a hard time believing someone shot at us.” Will removed his sunglasses and wiped his face. “But we’re sitting on the proof.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve gotten you involved. Let me see your arm again.”

  He slid his glasses back into place and turned for her to examine his arm. “Don’t be. I want the bastard stopped. Especially after this incident. Threatening phone calls are one thing, but this is my livelihood. The insurance issue alone will be a nightmare, not to mention Brady if the cat’s not back in shape in time for his race.”

  “Go to the clinic and get this gouge cleaned out. It’s nasty. Lots of ugly stuff lives in this water we love. If they give you antibiotics, take them—all of them.” She finished her water and pushed to her feet. “My phone’s locked in my car. I’m going to call Glen.”

  “Use mine.”

  A waterproof, floatable case sheathed his phone. When she traded up to a smartphone, she was going to get one of those, too. She punched in Glen’s number, hoping she remembered it correctly.

  He answered on the first ring.

  “It’s Taylor.”

  He didn’t let her continue. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Where are you?”

  What was going on? Did he know about the shot
s? “At Will’s. We just docked.”

  Taylor had heard worse than the string of foul words that flew from Will’s mouth, but Glen winced.

  The beautiful truck with the fancy wheels was heading to an early grave in a junkyard. Dents in every panel, including the roof. All the glass busted. Headlights, taillights gone. Dashboard smashed. Even the WILL U plate sported a few dings.

  Will’s fists clenched, and his chest heaved with every breath. If he didn’t calm down, he’d explode. He paced around his truck and kicked the back tire. Not once, but twice. Then he circled the truck again.

  “The insurance company will total her. I just made the final payment two months ago.”

  Glen draped his arm over Will’s shoulder. “That’s the way it works, didn’t you get the memo?” He squeezed Will’s bicep, jostling him a bit. “In all seriousness . . . you gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah. This isn’t the only thing that happened today. Taylor and I—”

  “I know about someone shooting at you.”

  Will stepped out from Glen’s arm. “How the hell do you know about that?”

  A car pulled up outside the gate.

  “Someone called it in. I drove over to Water Street, found you, and kept an eye peeled. Recognized you through binoculars. When I came here to wait, I found your truck.”

  Jake got out of the car. He was how Glen knew—she didn’t doubt it for one second. Jake scaled the locked gate and approached with long strides. God help her, but he turned her on like nobody’s business.

  He reached them. “What happened?”

  A blood vessel stood out on Will’s forehead as he rounded on Jake. “The new street look. What the hell you think happened? Somebody beat the shit out of my truck. I don’t suppose it was you?”

  Jake’s lips thinned into a straight line. “I don’t suppose it was.” His posture was loose and relaxed, his feet apart—a fighting stance. If Will made a move, Jake would have him on the ground before he finished taking the first step.

  Glen stepped between them. “Settle down, you two. Will, you know Jake Solomon?”

  Will nodded.

  “He’s all right. Let it go.” Glen turned to Jake. “Someone used Will and Taylor for target practice while his truck was being tortured.”

  “What?” Jake took a step back, surprise on his face.

  His expression appeared genuine, but she could tell he was acting. How did she know him so well in such a short time? “Glen, who phoned you? Was the voice like my caller?”

  “No. A man. For sure. Show me the catamaran. What were you doing with Nate Brady’s boat?” He touched Will’s elbow and walked him toward the quay.

  She rounded on Jake, hands on her hips. He shrugged and followed the others. Men. She hurried to catch up.

  “—out for a trial. I asked Taylor along because I thought she’d enjoy it.”

  “Did you tell anyone you were going out?”

  “Taylor asked me that. I told Trinh. Zia at the deli this morning. And A.J. He was in Lulu’s when I stopped in yesterday—all kinds of people in there.”

  “So anyone could’ve known.”

  “Yeah.” Will’s shoulders drooped.

  Glen turned to her. “How about you?”

  She hung her thumb at Jake. “Him. Yesterday when Will came over about the call, he mentioned about going out today. I filled Jake in later.”

  “One happy family.” Glen scratched his head. “You were the only boat. The shooter wasn’t aiming at something else.”

  “Right.”

  “Neither of you figured out where the shots came from?”

  “No. We started out of the harbor within minutes and headed back without any more trouble.”

  They reached the catamaran. Glen whistled. “Brady’s gonna let the bullshit fly over this one.”

  Beside her, Jake snickered. “Who’s this Brady?”

  “He and the department have a long history. The man’s a bigger pain than a stingray caught in the shallows. When I leave here, I’m gonna drive by his house. See if he’s around. Make sure his other boat’s secure. Despite how it looks, I wouldn’t be surprised if he concocted a scheme to get a chunk of insurance money. Come open the gate for me, Will. I’m not as young as I used to be. Climbing it once was enough.”

  They left her alone with Jake.

  He cupped her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

  She was happy her sunglasses hid her eyes. He couldn’t tell how his touch excited her. “Me, too.”

  “You knew I was the one who called Upchurch.” He dropped his hand.

  It wasn’t a question. “Please. Who else could it have been?”

  “It could have been the trigger puller. Or someone other than me who saw what went down and didn’t want to be involved. Glen and I have talked in broad terms. Have you met Brady?”

  Broad terms? Were they feeling each other out or what? Men. “Brady’s a pig.”

  “Hey, you two.” Will motioned them toward the road. “Come on. I’m going to lock up. Glen’s dropping me at the car rental place. I have to pick up one of my men and get that cat out of the water.”

  After Will turned away, Taylor pulled her fingers through Jake’s hair and brought her palm back.

  “What are you doing?” Jake’s eyes grew wary.

  She held out a live oak leaf. “You missed one.”

  “Crap.”

  “No one else noticed. They only saw you from the front. The tiny points catch on the least little thing.” Even his silky hair. “You were up in one of Randy’s trees.”

  “You’re observant.”

  She shrugged. “You must have powerful binoculars.” Like those on the Susquehanna.

  “Yeah.”

  Silence followed. She wanted to ask him about his father. She wanted to tell him to go bungee jumping without a cord. Hell, she didn’t know what she wanted. He studied his shoes and didn’t look at her. She studied him. Every once in a while he opened his mouth, apparently thought better of what he’d been about to say, and closed it. This went on for an eternity—or at least thirty seconds—before Will yelled at them again to hurry up.

  “Look, Taylor. I’m sorry for last night.” He still didn’t look at her.

  Was she supposed to forgive him with nothing more than I’m sorry? What happened to the Act of Contrition and scrubbing floors at the convent? Not that she’d ever experienced those. Not that she would tell.

  He looked at her then, and she went weak at the knees.

  “We need to talk, Taylor, but I have things to do right now. I don’t know how long it will take. Will you meet me for breakfast in the morning?”

  “I’m meeting Dan out here at six.” Let Jake adjust his timing.

  “I’ll be here at five-thirty.”

  At least he had a plan. Jake didn’t know how much he’d tell Taylor, but he could figure that out before five-thirty in the morning. If not, he’d wing it. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  Upchurch and Knox were already gone. He turned around in Rankin’s driveway and waited while Taylor backed out. She took her usual route toward the hotel. He followed for two blocks before turning left on a street that went to the highway and stopping at a convenience store on the corner.

  He called Kelly from the lot. “How’s Dad?”

  “His fever is gone. The doctors are less concerned today—one of them actually smiled. You caught me at home for once instead of at the hospital. Taylor Campbell called Dad this morning.”

  Jake wasn’t surprised. Taylor believed in direct access.

  “Why would she do that when she thinks you’re him?”

  Why indeed. Jake didn’t say anything.

  Kelly gave him five seconds. “She knows. How did she find out?”

  “Not important. Does Dad know?”

  “Hell no. His strength is returning. He might have killed the messenger.”

  Jake breathed easier. “Fill me in.”

  “Commander Campbell called on Dad’s on
ly publicly listed number. Those calls download to a black hole voice mail, and the number is only associated with my phone. Every day or so, I run the calls through a program that gives me a mini-bio of the caller. Or tells me the number is a pay phone or throwaway. I always have to listen to more calls than I want, usually crazies or people looking for a handout. Dad only hears about the threats. He makes the decision to call the appropriate authorities or handle it in-house.”

  “You always say he doesn’t trust you, Kel, but from this, I’d say he trusts you plenty. I had no idea about the number.”

  “Whatever. Then I clear the box. Only I hadn’t remembered to do that since the hospital turned me into a zombie. The box saturated. This morning as I was leaving the hospital, I noticed missed calls for that number on my cell and realized what had happened. Before I could delete them, a call came through from the Rock Harbor area code.”

  “Ambulance coming. Siren is blaring. Hold on.” The siren grew in intensity for a few seconds until the ambulance blew past heading toward Corpus Christi. “Okay. So the call was from Taylor?”

  “As it turned out. I gave her a line about a voicemail glitch and asked if she wanted to leave a message.”

  “Did she?”

  “Only her name and number for Dad to call. What happened? Do I need to pass her call on to Dad when he’s better?”

  “I wasn’t careful enough. We talked this afternoon. No need to worry Dad.” He hoped to hell Kelly listened.

  “I figured something like that. If the job had blown to shit you would’ve found me right away—one way or another. How is everything else?”

  Blown to shit. Even so, Jake’s blood warmed a few degrees. “Moving along. I’ll fill in details later. Do you have time for some tracking?”

  “Sure. As long as it isn’t too involved.”

  “Find out who owns this truck.” He gave her the plate number. “Name, address, phone, rap sheet, anything available.”

  “Five minutes. What’s next?”

  “Nate Brady’s working himself up the list. Might be Nathan or Nathaniel. Main address is in north Texas someplace, but I need Rock Harbor info.” Even Upchurch had indicated the possibility of insurance fraud.